


There's Always a Next Time

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Voltron Oneshots [34]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bullying, Fist Fights, Foster Kid Keith (Voltron), Gen, Keith (Voltron) Has Abandonment Issues, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Protective Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: James Griffin and Keith Kogane actually had quite a few things in common.They were both smart and had a natural talent for piloting, putting them both at the top of their classes at the Garrison. They were both stubborn and fought for what they wanted. They both knew how to throw a decent punch.





	There's Always a Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Griffin is a little bitch and you will not change my mind.

James Griffin and Keith Kogane actually had quite a few things in common. 

They were both smart and had a natural talent for piloting, putting them both at the top of their classes at the Garrison. They were both stubborn and fought for what they wanted. They both knew how to throw a decent punch.

Two things separated them from each other. One, that James knew how to talk to people. He could make friends, influence them to his will. Keith could not. And second, Keith was already on thin ice at the Garrison, one more infraction from being thrown out despite Shiro’s glowing recommendations.

So when the time finally came for Griffin to get his retribution for the punch on that first day of class, he had three other cadets backing him up, and Keith was alone with expulsion hanging over his head like the blade of a guillotine waiting to drop. 

Keith saw them on his way down the dormitory hallway, clustered at the corner where the hall turned, trying and failing to be inconspicuous, and his stomach knotted up. Griffin had been giving him that steely glare all week and it had been driving him crazy, but he’d hoped if he ignored them (like all the adults told him to do) he’d lose interest. 

He knew this wasn’t going to be the case when he made to pass him and Griffin casually stepped into his path.

Keith’s shoulders tightened, fight or flight already beginning to kick in, but he fought it. He took a step to the side, but one of the cadets Griffin had recruited moved in, blocking his path. Keith glanced over his shoulder only to see the other two hemming him in from behind and took a shaky breath. 

What was it Shiro always said? Patience yields focus? 

“Excuse me,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the way his temper flared when Griffin smirked at him. “I need to get through here.”

“No you don’t,” answered Griffin. “Not until we’re done talking.”

Keith’s fists clenched at his sides.  _ Patience yields focus.  _ “I don’t want to talk. Let me through.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Kogane.” 

* * *

Everything hurt. His pride stung the worst. Keith had been in a lot of fights over the years in the group home-- it was just a fact of life when you shoved twenty plus adolescent, traumatized boys in the same house with little supervision-- but this was the first time he’d come out of it being the only one injured. He’d always fought back with anything he had, whether it be fists or nails or teeth. 

But this time he’d ground his teeth and taken it without retaliating, and that hurt more than all of the bruises combined. 

He was still sitting against the wall trying to catch his breath when the announcement for lights out came from the speakers. It would hurt to move, but he had to get to his room before the monitor came around, or they’d ask questions. 

With the assistance of the wall, Keith struggled to his feet. His ribs and abdomen rippled with pain as he moved; he’d have some wicked bruises in a couple of days, but thankfully his room was only a little bit further down the hallway. 

He didn’t bother to turn on the light when he stumbled inside. Somehow Shiro had managed to score him a single bed room, which Keith suspected had more to do with the words  _ Criminal Tendencies  _ scrawled in his file than anything Shiro had said, but he was grateful for it now as he staggered to the bathroom and flicked on the light. 

Now that he was alone he let himself show the pain, wincing as he bent to fetch the first aid kit he’d swiped before he left the home. A good investment, apparently. 

He couldn’t help but grimace at his reflection as he peeled off his uniform jacket and undershirt. His entire torso was a kaleidoscope of lurid red marks from the tips of steel-toed boots and imprints of knuckles. They were smattered over his abdomen and ribs, and when he turned there was a line of them all the way down his spine and grouped in the center, probably from when he’d curled into a ball to keep from taking too many hits to his stomach. 

Lighter were the marks on his shoulders, thin finger-shaped shadows wrapping over the bones where one of them had pinned him to the floor. Griffin and his cronies had been smart-- they’d kept the majority of their abuse to areas that would be hidden unless he went out of his way to show someone, which they knew he wouldn’t. The only exception was the singular hit to his eye as revenge for where Keith had punched Griffin in their last fight. 

With a sigh he began to rifle through his supplies. It didn’t have much for bruises, so he would just have to make do with anti-inflammatory cream on all the ones he could reach and some painkillers. The black eye would be harder to hide, but not too difficult. All he’d have to do is keep his head down and let his hair cover it. 

Of course, when he finally tumbled into bed forty minutes later in a ball of aches and pains, he’d still failed to remember one important detail.

And that was he had simulator practice the next day.

With Shiro. 

* * *

In the morning he woke up late and barely had enough time to pop four painkillers before rushing out the door. His muscles were tight and burned when he moved, and even the slightest brush of his undershirt against the bruises would make him want to flinch. But he didn’t complain or let it show once, not through morning drills or the first three classes. He sat in the back and kept his head ducked and no one noticed the rapidly darkening mark around his left eye, which was a relief. 

Keith pretended not to notice how Griffin watched him with that smarmy smirk. 

At lunch break he went back to his room instead of the dining hall. If he hurried he might have time to get another layer of cream on the bruises before he had to go back to class, and grab a few more painkillers. By the time the ache got down to a tolerable level he’d probably be out of pills from the tiny bottle-- he’d have to remember to buy more at his nearest opportunity. 

He’d definitely be needing them again. 

The bruises were dark now, black and purple and absolutely hideous against his pale skin. Keith tried his best to ignore the sick feeling churning in his gut, but as he spread the cream over the tender marks it fought its way up his throat to choke him. 

He’d really been stupid enough to think this would stop when Shiro got him into the Garrison. That Shiro would protect him, like some kind of naive kid. He scoffed at himself in the mirror. How pathetic.

It would never stop. He was made for this, he supposed. A wild, feral thing dragged out of the desert, dressed up like something he wasn’t and would never be. Well, it wasn’t working. Everyone saw right through him. Especially Griffin-- he knew Keith didn’t belong. 

As he dressed again, in part to distract himself from how much the simple activity hurt, he considered running before he got expelled. He could probably find his way back home, to his father's house where no one would find him. Or maybe he’d leave here entirely and find somewhere new and try to start over. 

The desert would probably be safer. No one around to come after him. 

He’d just done up the final button on his jacket when someone knocked at his door, and all at once the world fell out from under him. 

_ Shiro. How could he have forgotten about Shiro?  _

“Keith, you in there? It’s simulator day.”

Keith gulped, clenching his fists and trying not to panic. Shiro was observant, he would notice if he tried to keep his head down and hide his face but if he didn’t he would see and then he would ask questions and then he’d tell Iverson and Keith would be expelled for getting into another fight and Shiro would realize that he was everything everyone always said he was and hate him and—

The knock repeated. “Keith?”

Pretending he wasn’t there was a tempting option, but Shiro wasn’t one to give up. He’d probably get worried and start looking everywhere and then he’d be in even more trouble when he was inevitably found. 

His fingers buzzed with apprehension, but he made himself take a step towards the door anyway. Maybe he could convince Shiro to skip the simulator today, say he was sick or something. It was worth a shot, at least. 

With a shuddering breath, he opened the door. 

“Hey, there you are!” Shiro’s grin was audible in his tone, but Keith couldn’t see it with his gaze firmly locked on the floor between their feet. “You weren’t at the simulator.”

“I know, sorry,” mumbled Keith, scraping one of his feet along the floor in an effort to dispel some of the anxious tension. “I forgot. I’m not feeling great today.” 

“Oh.” Shiro’s tone had immediately gone from excited to concerned, and suddenly Keith realized that he’d fucked up. “Do you need to go to the nurse?”

Of course Shiro wasn’t going to just accept he was sick and move on. He’d have to actually come up with a story, and Keith was  _ terrible  _ at lying. 

“Uh, no, it’s not that bad, just… my head hurts.”

Which wasn’t technically a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either, and judging by the silence coming from Shiro, he knew it. Without saying anything he took a step forward, hemming Keith into the room, and let the door close behind him. When he spoke his voice was low and worried, but Keith still refused to look up at his face. 

“Is something going on?”

He stubbornly shook his head. 

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

Carefully, Keith peered up at Shiro through his bangs without moving his head. He had his jaw clenched the way he always did when he was displeased, and it made Keith shiver all the way down to his toes. 

Moving slowly, telegraphing his movements before he made them, Shiro reached out and brushed his bangs back, revealing the bruise. He inhaled— a quick, sharp sound— and Keith squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. 

The pain didn’t come. Instead, Shiro moved his hand down and gently tilted up his chin so that he could get a proper look at the injury. The look on his face was downright terrifying, the exact opposite of how nice he was being with his touch. 

“Who did this to you?” He growled in a low, dangerous tone. Keith tugged his chin out of Shiro’s hold and looked away.

“Nobody. I fell.”

Shiro drew in a deep breath. “Keith, listen. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry that someone hurt you. I need to know who it was so they can’t do it again.”

Keith folded in on himself. Sure, Shiro probably meant that-- but if he said anything Shiro would go to Iverson, and there was no way the commander would let him off so easily. 

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“This  _ isn’t  _ fine.”

Keith’s temper flared suddenly, and he didn’t bite back the words in time. “You won’t fix anything! If I tell you it’ll just… just…” His voice quieted, strangled by the sensation that he’d said too much and now there was no going back. “It’ll just be worse next time.”

“Next time?” Shiro shifted, trying to make Keith look at him, but he stubbornly refused to. “What do you mean next time?”

He snorted to himself. Shiro didn’t  _ get  _ it, there was always a next time, there would always be a next time. Griffin had figured out that he had power over him and now it was never going to stop. Not unless Keith did something about it, which he couldn’t unless he wanted to be expelled and go back to the home, which would be even worse. 

“Keith--” Shiro reached for his shoulder, and Keith couldn’t help it. He flinched away from the touch on the bruises with a harsh sucked in breath and Shiro went still. Tense silence descended between them. 

_ This is it,  _ thought Keith.  _ This is where he leaves me behind.  _

But Shiro didn’t leave. He just stood there for a minute with a considering expression, until eventually he knelt down, letting Keith be the taller one for once. Still he avoided Shiro’s eyes. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

His throat tightened. He really, really didn’t want to… but he looked anyway, and was surprised to see Shiro looking at him so sadly. Not with pity, just genuine concern. How novel. 

“What are you afraid of?” Shiro questioned, gently taking one of Keith’s hands. “What do you think will happen if you tell me?”

“You’ll tell Iverson,” he grumbled in answer. “And I’ll get in trouble, and they’ll kick me out for fighting again.”

Shiro’s head tilted thoughtfully. “Did you throw the first punch?”

Keith shook his head no. 

“Did you throw any punches?”

“No. But you don’t-- you don’t get it.” He jerked his hand out of Shiro’s, raising it to join its twin pressed against his eyes to keep the frustrated tears from spilling. “Nobody-- they don’t care if I didn’t do anything, I was there, I was involved, so I get in trouble too. Nobody cares who starts the fights. And I don’t want to--” Keith snapped his jaw shut before he could finish the sentence.

It was like jinxing yourself. If he said he didn’t want to leave, the universe would make it happen. 

“What if I didn’t tell Iverson?”

Keith lowered his hands purely out of confusion. That wasn’t how the chain of command worked, right? Surely he couldn’t actually do that. But Shiro’s eyes were shining with hidden anger and determination.

“What if I took care of it myself?”

“You… are you allowed?”

Shiro gave a careless shrug. “Not technically. But I have a few ideas.”

Still, Keith hesitated. Shiro meant well, but that was no guarantee things would actually work out the way he said they would. But he was looking at him so hopefully…

“Fine,” Keith murmured, feeling a bit like the world was ending even as Shiro beamed up at him. “It was Griffin. And three others. I didn’t know them.”

Shiro nodded solemnly. “Thank you for trusting me. Answer me honestly: do you need to go to the nurse?”

He bit his lip and nodded. 

“Alright, let’s go. I’ll make sure she doesn’t ask questions, ok?”

“Ok.” 

* * *

It took every scrap of Shiro’s not-insignificant self control not to snap when he and Keith finally made it to the nurses office. 

He’d known from the beginning something was off. Keith wasn’t great at eye contact as it was, but he never just stared at the floor like that, and the way he held himself was all wrong. Tense and awkward, and now that the nurse had finally persuaded him to take off his jacket to reveal the injuries, Shiro could see why. 

His entire pale torso was a mosaic of bruises, from blunt impact marks to slim shapes of fingers clamped over his shoulders. He kept his eyes fixed downwards as the nurse let out a gasp and immediately leapt into mother-hen mode, but Shiro’s voice was stuck. 

He wanted to scream. 

Keith had been like this all day. He’d woken up like this. He’d gone to class like this. He’d gone to  _ class  _ with a  _ black eye and no one noticed.  _ He’d been in pain and no one noticed.

He shoved his hands in his uniform pockets to hide how they trembled with rage. 

The nurse had begun to apply some kind of cream to the bruises, murmuring little apologies and reassurances when Keith flinched away from her fingers. Some of the bruises in the center of his back were darker than the others, and it took Shiro a moment to figure out why, but once he did it only made him angrier. 

They were darker because Keith hadn’t been able to reach them. When he’d treated his wounds alone. 

“Alright sweetie, go ahead and put your shirt back on.”

Keith obeyed, his slow movements the only indication he gave that he was in pain. The nurse had bustled back to her desk and was typing rapidly on her computer, the keys clack clack clacking under her perfectly manicured nails. 

“Sir?” She asked, jerking his attention back to her. “Should I send this to Commander Iverson, or--”

“No. Just send it to me. I’ll handle it.”

The nurse arched an eyebrow, but he outranked her, so she merely pursed her lips and did as she was told. Usually Shiro hated pulling rank. This was the one exception. 

Shiro watched as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and reread the report before sending it to him. Then she stood and fetched another tube of the cream from her cabinet, which she pressed into Shiro’s palm. 

“He’ll need to put this on twice a day,” she murmured. “I would give it to him, but he won’t be able to reach all the bruises on his own.”

“I’ll help him.”

And he would. He would-- no matter what. He wouldn’t let Keith be hurt like this again. 

He already had an idea of how he was going to do it. 

* * *

James couldn’t help but notice that Kogane wasn’t in their last class of that day. The thought pleased him; apparently he’d done enough damage to make him miss class. Maybe he’d even kept him from his special practice time with Captain Shirogane. That would be perfect. 

About halfway through the lesson the door at the front of the room cracked open, the head of the secretary from the end of the hall poking through. The professor stopped lecturing and shot the woman an irritated look. 

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but Captain Shirogane would like to see Cadet Griffin in his office.”

James sat up straight as a ripple of wonder went through the other students. Usually the captain only had time for Kogane. 

It was really hard to smother his smirk as he left the classroom. 

When he got to the office Captain Shirogane was seated at his desk, busily looking through some papers. James knocked politely even though the door was open, then marched in and saluted smartly. He had to give a good impression after all, especially if he was going to do what James thought and offer him Kogane’s simulator time, since he probably hadn’t been able to make it there. 

“Cadet Griffin,” said the captain as he rose to his feet. James waited for the order for at ease to come (he’d heard Shirogane was very lax with cadets when it came to standing at attention) but it didn’t. Instead he walked right past James to shut the office door with a decisive snick. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” He dared to ask. Shirogane paced back around him, back to his desk, and sat. His usual easy-going expression was nowhere to be seen, and something akin to doubt was beginning to tinge the edges of James’s mind. 

“Yes. I wanted to speak to you about what happened last night.”

Instantly he was doused in ice water. 

_ Damnit, Kogane, you snitch! _

Outwardly, he kept his calm. “Did something happen last night I should be aware of, sir?”

Shirogane’s lip twitched. “Why don’t you tell me, cadet?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

For a moment there was tense silence, the two of them staring each other down across the room. He refused to let his demeanor crack, even though he was mentally plotting how to next get Kogane alone. Next time he’d make sure he wouldn’t talk. 

It was almost like Shirogane read his mind, as suddenly his eyes flared and he stood again, bracing his fists on the desk. 

“Listen to me very carefully,” he said in a voice that made James shudder. “I have a full report of the incident. The one and only reason I haven’t already sent it to Iverson is out of the sheer kindness of my heart. But if I find out you’ve so much as  _ looked  _ at Keith again, I will skip Commander Iverson entirely and send the report straight to the General.”

James stopped breathing. The General was the leader of the whole school-- no, scratch that, the  _ founder  _ of the Galaxy Garrison. He was legendary for his strict adherence to his ideals of military conduct. If he found out what James had done…

Suddenly he was regretting all of those kicks. 

“Do you understand me?”

James gulped. “Yes, sir.”

Shirogane slowly sank back into his chair, though his expression didn’t relax even a bit. 

“Dismissed.” 

  
  
  
  



End file.
